


a fool from any direction

by zombiefreckles



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiefreckles/pseuds/zombiefreckles
Summary: Charles hurts his hand and Arthur fixes him up.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	a fool from any direction

**Author's Note:**

> My spouse asked me to write something based on this: https://twitter.com/proyearner/status/1272670125599215616
> 
> It doesn't come up but for the record Arthur and Charles are trans in this.

Another length of fishing line snapped, but the bucks’ antlers remained lashed together.

“How can a little bluegill break a line,” said Arthur, leaning on his saddle horn, “but two full-grown deer can’t.”

“Not enough tension,” said Charles. After another second of watching them struggle he said, “Go downhill a ways and don’t let them move.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m gonna go over there and cut the line.”

“Nah, Charles, leave ‘em to it.”

“If they were just in antler-lock I might,” said Charles, patting his hip where his knife hung. “But it don’t feel right. Just stay there.”

Before Arthur could say anything more, Charles trotted Taima up the dusty slope, until the deer were pinned between his horse and Arthur’s. He dismounted and approached. One deer was still standing, but the other, exhausted, lay limp in the dirt. Only its ears swiveled around, attentive to Charles as he reached them. His knife was a white spot, catching and slipping off the slack line. Charles grabbed with his other hand, pulling taught enough to cut. Another metallic wink, and the bucks sprang apart—but Charles lurched by the arm, caught, and it took another flash of the knife to unlash him.

“C’mon, Charles,” Arthur muttered, urging his horse to where Charles stood doubled over his hand. He hopped down before his horse came to a stop. “Lemme see.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Charles, let me see.”

He looked up, grimacing. The cord was wrapped around his hand and fingers, cutting into the flesh.

“All right, sit down.”

Arthur’s hands circled his wrist and he kneeled in the dirt. After a second, Charles cooperated. “I shouldn’t have grabbed that line.”

“You shouldn’t have gone over there in the first place, Charles. You’re lucky you didn’t get stabbed in the chest. Shit, that’s the kind of stupidity _I_ get into.” Charles gritted his teeth as Arthur unwound the line, loop by blood-soaked loop. He started with Charles’ fingers, already turning dark purple. When at last he got all of it extracted, Arthur took a sprig of yarrow leaves from his bag and held it in front of Charles’ face.

“Chew that, we’re gonna put it on before I wrap your hand up.”

Charles took the spiny leaves from Arthur’s hand without a word, as he did so many things. He pushed them into his cheek and chewed.

“You don’t have to go charging up every time you think you can make a difference, all right?” Arthur took his canteen and wet a handkerchief, wiping the blood off Charles’ hand, mindful of all the places the fishing line sliced it. “One day it ain’t just gonna be a hand, and then I’ll—well, where will I be? You think I’ll pick up after you every time, well that’s . . .”

Arthur looked up, intending to ask Charles to spit out the yarrow. Charles’ eyes were black, wide, dark, deep. The way Arthur loved his eyes to be. Arthur couldn’t but think of the shine on a piece of charcoal when it’s not yet gone cold.

“That’s fine,” said Arthur.

Charles nodded at that. “I know.”

“Spit out that yarrow so you can kiss me.”

Charles’ mouth twitched up. He let it drop into Arthur’s hand, and then snatched up Arthur’s lips with his own. The taste was bitter and medicinal. Charles wouldn’t let him go, and he had to pull back.

“When I’m done,” Arthur said.

He packed yarrow along the cuts, and then unrolled a strip of linen from his bag and wrapped Charles’ hand.

“Not gonna be satisfied until both your hands are useless, huh.”

“Unlike many people we know, I use my head more than my hands.”

“You’re not wrong, Mr. Smith.” Arthur took Charles’ other hand, inspecting the burn on the palm. The skin shiny and puckered, lacking the elasticity it used to have. “Don’t count out everything you use your hands for.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction." -- Walter Dale Miller


End file.
